


Wordless

by BlueRoboKitty



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blindfolds, Cullenlingus, F/M, Friends With Benefits, James is bad at expressing feelings with words, Light Bondage, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Submissive Nadia, This ship is so much fun more ppl need to like it, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 10:36:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16638326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueRoboKitty/pseuds/BlueRoboKitty
Summary: “How long have they been at this now? A few months? And how did this even happen to begin with? It doesn’t matter. Their lives are under siege, fear of the future has been replaced with militant monotony and inescapableboredom, and she’s now become the distraction they both so desperately need. Yet, she’s still nervous, lower abdomen quivering beneath that searching hand of his.She tries not to respond with a smirk of her own as he struggles a bit to shimmy her jeans catching on her round hips. Perhaps she should’ve worn a skirt tonight instead, but then again, her mischievous side is quick to point out, why should she make thiseasyfor him?It’shergame, and he’s an eager player.”





	Wordless

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally gonna be a scene for a much longer fic but idk if I wanna work on it anymore since I have so many WIP ideas so PWP it is. I am so damn thirsty for this ship.

James Griffin is not one for words of intimacy.

 

His words are for other reasons, directing orders the least of which. He can immediately tell you what you are doing wrong, sharp and brutally honest. He can encourage you to give everything your all, to overcome all obstacles and setbacks. He can inspire you to follow him to the ends of the Earth, the galaxy, all the way to the stars that lay beyond infinity.

 

That’s why he has difficulty, they say, making actual friends and _keeping_ them.

 

They love him, they all do. At his school in the town he grew up, even more so at the Garrison where he enrolled at fourteen. But they love him like one loves a star, a distant dream to fantasize about, but shining far too brightly to come any closer. He doesn’t push people away because they don’t ever come near to begin with out of fear of being vaporized. He’s someone to admire, to chase from a safe distance, but not to get personal with.

 

Only the rest of the MFE-Ares squad know what he’s like, the only actual friends he has. And only Nadia Rizavi knows what he’s like in the dark when the lights go out for curfew, his room exactly where she is not supposed to be. He never kicks her out. Technically, he’s not the one breaking the rules here.

 

He’s quiet then, too, when all is dark and still. That’s okay because he lets her know in other ways how much he desires her.

 

It’s usually a movie, like tonight. Something they’ve seen before a million times already. Boring by now, when you know all the words, all the plot twists. It’s just a ploy, to not actively address why they are here in his bed, watching some lame movie in the dark, his hand warm and scary on her belly. She keeps her eyes fixated on the exposition scene reflecting off her glasses as that hand trails downward, fingers ghosting on the hem of her jeans. Then comes the softest snap of a button and the hiss of a zipper coming undone. Heart racing against her chest, she forces her breath to steady, keep concentrating on the characters talking about a creepy house’s background and not whatever he’s up to. Her pulse betrays her, however, jumping ever so slightly at the touch of his lips on her neck. She feels the smirk against her skin and blushes despite herself.

 

How long have they been at this now? A few months? And how did this even happen to begin with? It doesn’t matter. Their lives are under siege, fear of the future has been replaced with militant monotony and inescapable _boredom_ , and she’s now become the distraction they both so desperately need. Yet, she’s still nervous, lower abdomen quivering beneath that searching hand of his.

 

She tries not to respond with a smirk of her as he struggles a bit to shimmy her jeans catching on her round hips. Perhaps she should’ve worn a skirt tonight instead, but then again, her mischievous side is quick to point out, why should she make this _easy_ for him?

 

It’s _her_ game, and he’s an eager player.

 

He plants tiny kisses and even tinier bites down toward her collar, and she shivers at the cool air on her legs when he finally tears her pants free. That’s a record for him, if she bothered to keep count, but she’s sure that’s a record. She wears tight jeans to his room for a reason and not just to tease him with her assets. Watching him _struggle_ is part of the fun.

 

His reward is the tiny little thong she wears, black fabric already damp from her wet pussy that it barely covered. The main character has just opened the basement door, about to descend into the void in order to the solve the mystery of the haunted house, and she braces herself for his finger to slip inside her.

 

It doesn’t. Instead, his hand resting on her inner thigh makes it way back up toward her shirt, pushing it up further, raising goosebumps over exposed skin. She swallows a sigh, tries not to open her legs to encourage him to go back there and scratch that itch he’s stirred up in her.

 

Her bra matches her thong, black and lacy. He likes that kind of thing, black or red lingerie, something that’s sensual and mature. Which is good because it was either this set or her Garrison issued granny-panties and sports bra. She can feel the heat of his gaze drinking her in like he’s been trapped in the desert for too long and she is the river. She playfully wonders what the look on his face would be if she tells him she got this saucy little lingerie  _specifically_ for him when out on patrol with Leifsdottir down at the West Plaht City Mall like a post-apocalyptic girls’ day out, where it may just so happened to have _accidentally_ fallen on her person while browsing the abandoned but still serviceable Victoria’s Secret stock. What will her precious squad leader do to her then, knowing she was wearing illicit goods? _Scold_ her? **Punish** her?

 

Surely, he’s the type who wants to issue orders for more than just the Garrison’s benefit. He continues mouthing her neck, and her mind is on fire with an inferno of hot fantasies of his hand on her head, pushing her down, his tongue lashing out sharp commands. On your knees. Behave yourself. Good cadet. A shiver tears through her, a shiver he feels like his own, and he raises his head.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Y-yeah.”

 

“We can stop,” he offers, ever the gentleman.

 

A scream from the small TV screen sitting on his dresser next to some folded shirts and a bottle of aftershave. The plot has taken a turn. “And watch this nonsense?”

 

He gives her a noncommittal shrug. “Or something else.”

 

Sometimes, she wishes he actually did use words for once, tell her now that he doesn’t want to stop, either, that he wants to take everything she has to offer. But he won’t because that’s just how he is, she’s learned that a long time ago. So she cups his face in her hands and guides his lips to hers instead.

 

The game is over, and he slides over her body in a full flush, chest to chest, hips to hips. She tugs at his Garrison-issued tank top, and he tosses it off him abandoned and forgotten to the floor where her jeans lay. They kiss until they are both lightheaded and dizzy, drunk off the other’s tongue, bodies rolling skin on skin. They’re hungry, they’re both so bored and restless and _hungry_. He’s hard against her thigh, pushing through the silky fabric of his basketball shorts, and she forces down the sudden intrusive thought that if not her then someone else would be here in his bed right now. 

 

That thought gains no traction, however, for he touches her body like she’s a scared relic, her alone, and his reverent kisses travel away from her mouth, down her chest, over her belly, and then his breath comes to a stop hot and heavy against the curls between her legs. She trembles. Anticipation winds tight around her body and threatens to snap her to pieces. His thumbs hook the sides of the thong and tease over her bare hips, tracing tiny circles over sensitive bone. He raises dark gray eyes to her, and with the back of her hand nervously over her mouth, she nods.

 

No matter how many times they’ve been together, he always acts like she’s going to push him away at any given moment. She wonders about that. Has she not been clear enough that she literally trusts him with her life? For two years now, she has followed him without question, allowed him to lead her away from the mundane civilian world to an endless sky of possibility. What makes him think she doesn’t also trust him with her body, trusts that he can do _whatever he pleased with her_ and it would all be for her own benefit, that he would never hurt her, would never lead her to where she can’t follow.

 

Maybe he wasn’t the only one terrible with words here.

 

His tongue uncurls from his mouth to roll lazily over her, panties and all. She squeaks against the back of her palm, her other hand digging into the sheet. He glances at her, smirks, and does it again. Okay, she lied. Maybe she does prefer his little boy shyness, after all. When he gains confidence, she’s barely able to handle it. Something about him eating her out through her underwear makes the act so much dirtier. Her back bows from the bed as he sucks on her clit through the thong, getting her new underwear she looted fair and square all the dirtier. Her toes over his back curl when he noses the flimsy string out of the way enough for him to slip his tongue inside her folds as if she’s not wet enough already. With each lick and nip, he worships her until she’s forgotten how to breathe.

 

She closes her eyes tight, and her fingers tear into his hair for purchase as she slides closer to the edge, colors she doesn’t recognize dancing in her mind. “Ja... _Jamie...”_ she sighs, voice husky and ruined floating through the dark air. Someone’s getting killed, quite violently in fact, on screen, judging by the wet squishy sounds, but she’s certain she’s the one actually dying here. 

 

Just before the pressure within her becomes too much for her to hold inside anymore, he pulls away, swollen mouth glistening with saliva and herself. She whines. What kind of game is he playing? He regards her a long moment, caressing her inner thighs while she shakes from being denied.

 

What goes on in that pretty head of his, anyway? What does he really think of her, sprawled nearly naked and vulnerable on his bed?

 

He reaches behind him into the dresser, and she groans with displeasure at the flash of bright packaging and the rip of foil with his teeth. Even if she had been able to keep taking the Pill during the siege, he would’ve insisted on wearing a rubber anyway. More protection the better, he doesn’t even need to speak, she can clearly see the lecture in his eyes as he meets her unhappy gaze. She’s an MFE pilot, critical to Earth’s defense, if she were to become pregnant, blah blah blah, _shut up, Griffin_. These aren’t even like the **good** condoms, anyway, “ribbed for her pleasure” or whatever, just the cheap latex they gave away for free in the clinic back in the halcyon days before the Galra invasion, so mass produced that they had come in an embarrassingly large box during one of their first supply missions.

 

She hoists herself by her elbows, abdomen curling tight as she sits up, all those crunches they’re forced to do every PT session coming quite in handy right now as she reaches between her knees to push down his shorts and free his cock. He closes his eyes briefly when she gives him a few strokes, teasing his tip a little with her thumb. He doesn’t say so, but he wants her so much, from his heated gaze to his hard erection, and _she_ _did_ _that_ _to_ _him_.

 

He rolls the rubber on with ease, and she’s caught off guard when he pushes her back down on the bed. Usually, he’d roll them so that she could climb on him, ride him until they both came apart. Tonight is different. One hand pins her wrists with such ease above her head, applying only just enough pressure to let her know that _he’s_ the one in charge this time.

 

 _On_ _your_ _knees_.

 

Oh, man, maybe that little fantasy of hers really isn’t too far off from the real thing. One day, maybe, they will both figure that out if they decide to let this last that long. For now, he simply ties his uniform belt around her wrists, loosely, the belt is thick and not very pliable for this kind of thing, but it gets the the point across. Then he tenderly pulls her glasses off.

 

“H-hey, I need those to see, yknow,” she protests, instinctively trying to reach for them as he places them on the night table only to realize, oh yeah, he tied her up.

 

His grin holds a mischievousness to match her own. “You won’t need them.”

 

Cocky bastard.

 

He ties his shirt around her head, blindfolding her, and oh, okay, she can get behind this. Unable to see, unable to touch his perfectly sculpted body, do nothing but just lay there in his bed and _feel_.

 

A pillow beneath her lifts her hips so she’s able to wrap her legs high around his slender waist. She feels his fingers dig into her thighs, and her folds stretch to accommodate his cock sliding deep inside of her. This has always been one of her favorite moments, the moment when he penetrates her and fills her completely.

 

He doesn’t make a sound, but she can hear his breath quicken as he thrusts slow and deep. His thumb teases her aching clit, sending tiny jolts of electricity through her with each careful snap of his hips. He’s so slow, it makes her want to scream, the pace he sets is only just enough to maintain that pressure boiling in her lower belly but not enough to set it off, damn him. And whenever she feels herself get closer and closer, her pussy squeezing around him tighter and tighter, he stops and just rests there inside of her, breath heavy, until the feeling fades and he starts up again, the sensation more intense than before.

 

Beside herself now, she wants to beg, and she can’t even do that much. Words can’t form with all her panting for air, her mind so overcome in a thick fog of bliss that she’s incoherent. Her body is wound so tight, her muscles spasm at the slightest touch of hisfingers that caress her every now and again to taunt her. He had to be close by now. Come _oooonnn_ , how can a guy who just turned twenty a month ago have _this_ _much_ _self_ - _control?_

 

When he sinks into her again to resume his rhythm after another agonizing pause just at the peak of pleasure, this **sound** comes out of her from somewhere in her chest that she’s never known she’s capable of making. His breath hitches in his throat and releases with a strained, _“God.”_ She has no way of knowing how absolutely exquisite she looks right now, her body softly glowing from her sweat in the light of the TV, her mouth slightly open, breasts swelling against her bra with each deep breath she takes. She has no way of knowing how much he really wants her, this, what they are doing right now, barely scratching the surface of his desire.

 

She whimpers and tries to move her hips herself, because if he’s not gonna finish her off then she’ll take matters into her own, erm, thighs since her hands are kinda tied up at the moment... but with the pillow keeping her lower back off the bed and her hands behind her head, she can’t get enough leverage to thrust and so she kinda just flops a bit.

 

A snort. “What are you doing, crazy?” he asks, voice shaking as if he’s struggling to hold back his laughter.

 

“I... I’m just trying...” she pants, shaking, so helpless and unable to move and he deliberately set it up like this, damn him. Shit, she can’t even speak in three word sentences, so she settles for a classic, _“Jerk.”_

 

He chuckles darkly, stroking her belly, back and forth, so gently she might come from this alone. The muscles of her stomach spasm, her nerves firing on all cylinders. Tears soak her blindfold from an intensity she can no longer handle.

 

But she’s not about to go without playing one last card up her sleeve. She looks up at him (at least, in the direction she thinks his face is at) and **pouts**.

 

“Now who’s the jerk?” he whispers, words straining with obvious need. She feels the heat of his body as he leans over her, the brush of his thumb across her lower lip, and she curls up to meet him when he kisses her deeply. She smirks against his mouth. There is absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do for her, and they both know it.

 

She cries out when his pace changes drastically, fast and desperate. His hands press on the back of her thighs, pushing her knees toward her ears so he can get as deep as possible. She’s loud and she doesn’t care, kind of hopes that the whole hall can hear her. The heated friction by his quick thrusts is all it takes to finally pop that molten ball of pressure within her. They are right. You do see stars when you come so good, as numerous and bright as the night sky.

 

He, on the other hand, is very quiet throughout it all even as he climaxes. He just grips her tight, body rolling as his orgasm rocks through his entire being, the smallest, slightest groans escape with his heavy breathing, and then, so soft that she barely caught it:

 

_“Nadia...”_

 

For a moment, they just lay there, sweating and gasping, trying to come back down gently. They kiss sweet and tender, and he unties his belt from her wrists. The blindfold comes off next, her vision blurred by unshed tears and bad eyesight. With shaking hands, she slips her glasses back on and wonders if maybe she should take up the Garrison’s offer for free eye surgery, after all.

 

He holds her like she’s the most precious thing in the world to him, planting gentle kisses on her head as he threads his fingers through her dark, messy hair. With her hands now free, she traces the curves of his muscles along his arms, shoulders, follows the curve of his spine along his back. It’s taking a bit longer than usual for them to come back down. Or maybe neither of them want the moment to be over just yet.

 

“I... I think I like you, James Griffin.”

 

Her heart nearly stops as she freezes up in shock, and he goes completely, alarmingly still. Why... _why did she say that?_ They’re _not_ an item, this is just something they do together to take the edge off, to relieve themselves from the monotonous helplessness they’re forced to endure day after day ever since the Galra nearly destroyed their planet. She lifts her eyes to his, sheepish, knowing she’s crossed a boundary they established between them a long time ago. Ever since the very first time one of their movie nights turned into making out and some light petting because the movie they put on was extra boring, long after Kinkade and Leifsdottir left the room for curfew, and they were still burning hot from a particularly harrowing patrol mission, they swore they would not let themselves take this too far. Truth be told, it’s already gone too far. He shouldn’t be inside her, and she shouldn’t even be in his room after curfew. 

 

His widened eyes are definitely surprised at her slip of a confession. Yet, he’s not angry. Or uncomfortable. There is a bit of an embarrassed blush on his face, but the soft fondness in his gaze matching the shy smile that then spreads over his lips makes him look rather pleased. At least, she kinda, despite everything, hopes he’s pleased. He might not say much about his personal feelings, but it’s not like he’s a difficult person to read, either.

 

How can God have created one person to be so damn gorgeous?

 

“A... a little!” she quickly backtracks, covering her crimson face with her hands. “O-only a little, okay?”

 

He chuckles and nuzzles her ear. “Okay.”

 

Griffin doesn’t answer her that night, but the next day as they are going over the morning briefing with the Garrison brass, and the MFEs stand in their usual position behind the table, his hand rests on the small of Rizavi’s back like it belongs there. It’s all the answer she needs.


End file.
